With Death Comes Agony
by Nopride4531
Summary: 'And just like that, in the moments that followed, Captain Liam Jones' still beating heart broke in two. As he sat there, one calloused hand gently carding through his brother's hair and the other holding him close, he began to do something that he hadn't done for years. He cried. And he never lived happily ever after.'
1. Mutiny

The first thing that Captain Liam Jones noticed when he finally managed to open his bleary eyes was the fact that he was not alone.

Groaning, he moved to put a hand to his aching head, only to find that his wrists had been bound behind his back with rope. He frowned and pulled against the restraints, only to quickly find that it was futile; the knot was a constrictor. The only thing he'd accomplish was cutting off his circulation. Frustrated, he looked down at his feet and saw that they had befallen the same fate.

"So I see that you're finally awake," the other man in the room said, his tone making Liam's blood boil. "Good."

Memories came rushing back to him, strong, vibrant, and so very disturbing. He could hear the man's voice as he shouted to the crew that they should free themselves, that they should roam the seas under no kings' orders. He saw the man, Jacques if he recalled correctly, pull his sword and turn to him, a crazed glint in his eyes. He remembered Killian pulling his own blade and rushing him, felt a sharp pain on his head as everything in sight went black. He dimly heard Killian call his name before—

Oh Gods.

"I was actually beginning to get impatient," Jacques continued, absently leaning against the wall. "And when I get impatient—"

"Where is he?" Liam demanded, interrupting him mid sentence. "Where the _hell_ is he?!"

Jacques raised an eyebrow.

"I see I'm not the only one," he drawled with a smirk. "And I presume that you're talking about your brother." He stepped aside. "I was just getting to that."

Liam craned his head to the left to see what he'd revealed. Blanching, he immediately recognized Killian slumped in the corner of the brig, unmoving and pale. Blood ran down his face from a wound on his forehead, dripping on to the floor and staining it red. Other than that though, he seemed to be alright. Well, as far as he could see for that matter. But who knew the extent of the damage? Who knew if there were more wounds hidden from view?

_Jacques_.

"What have you done to him?" Liam demanded and the man smiled a cold, wicked grin.

"He got a little rowdy when all of the... _commotion_ was going on. Don't worry though; he's fine."

Somehow, Liam sincerely doubted that.

"For now."

His already prominent scowl hardened into a menacing glare, one that would've scared the life out of most men.

But not Jacques.

"What do you mean 'for now?'" He snarled, eyes briefly cutting to his brother before snapping back to the sailor before him.

Jacques sighed and walked over to Killian with a spring in his step seldom seen aboard the ship. After winking at Liam, he pulled a lethal looking knife from his belt and brandished it for a moment before grabbing Killian by his hair and tilting his head back, exposing his throat.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said, pressing the blade just hard enough so that a trickle of blood streamed out. "The loot we got from the island is locked in the hold. _You're_ going to tell me where the key is. If you fail to or tell me a lie, your brother loses a hand."

He placed the knife on his wrist.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Liam's heart was pounding in his chest as he stared at him, desperately searching his gaze for any sign of a bluff. "I can't do that," he murmured upon finding none. "It's treason."

He surprisingly sounded a lot calmer than he felt. Perhaps it was the fact that in his mind, there was no possible way that Jacques would actually carry out his threat. Not when he'd already dug his own grave for even _touching_ Killian.

"Suit yourself."

The reply was cold and almost flat, as if it had been rehearsed countless times before. To Liam's horror, the blade began to saw through his brother's wrist with ease, startling him awake in the process. After a brief look of confusion, he opened his mouth and screamed, eyes finding Liam's and pleading with him to do something—anything—to get rid of the pain.

"Stop!" Liam screamed as Killian's blood flowed on to the floor, pooling around him in a thick crimson puddle. "Killian!"

"You had your chance," Jacques taunted as he continued to slice through the wound. The knife, although sharp enough to get the job done, was slightly dull and having a bit of trouble now that it was through with the softer tissue. "I told you."

"Please!" He begged as his brother's screams reached such a pitch that he felt the urge to clap his hands over his ears. "I'll do whatever you want! Just... please."

Only when the first mate reached bone did he stop cutting and turn to him.

"Anything?" He asked and Liam nodded.

The knife found its way back to Killian's throat.

"Liar."

In one swift, fluid movement, the blade went through his neck, hard enough that it left an imprint in the wood behind him. A gasp escaped Killian's mouth as his eyes widened in shock. In the seconds that followed, they slowly moved over to Liam's and held them for one last time. Then, he went completely, horribly limp.

Liam felt his blood run cold.

No.

_No_.

_Not Killian. Not his baby brother._

He struggled against his restraints, desperate to run to him, to do anything but just sit there and let him go through all of that pain and suffering alone.

"Shame," Jacques said as he pulled the knife out with a sickening wet sound. "I quite liked him from time to time when he wasn't yelling at me."

Liam cut his eyes over to him, a furious look forming on his face.

"You bastard!" He choked, never taking his gaze off of him. "I'll kill you!"

As he spoke, he could feel the rope that bound his limbs loosening. _ The son of a bitch must not have tied it correctly,_ he thought. Slowly, he worked his hands behind his back so as not to alert Jacques to what he was doing. To his relief, the man gave no sign that he knew and Liam thanked the Gods for that small miracle.

_Hold on, Killian, _he thought as his hands finally came free. _Just hold on, little brother. I'm coming._

"You know," Jacques began as he kicked the younger Jones with his boot. "He really was quite admirable... tough little son of a bitch."

He turned his back to Liam.

_Three... two... one..._

He rushed him.

Wrapping one arm around Jacques' neck and the other around the hilt of the knife, Liam let an animalistic bellow escape his throat as he wrestled the blade free. Gripping it tightly, he drove it repeatedly into his skull, all of the rage he'd ever felt in his life coming out. The man went slack in his hold, but he didn't stop mutilating the corpse until it was unrecognizable. Only then did he let it drop to the floor.

Then he turned all of his attention to Killian.

He was still. Unnervingly still. His heart thudding in his chest, Liam knelt down next to him and frantically checked for a pulse, his breath quickening when he couldn't find one.

"Killian!" He whispered, unsure if the rest of the crew was anywhere near them. "Killian, you have to wake up!"

No response.

"Killian!" He begged, cupping his brother's face and smearing the blood that was already there. "Killian please!"

No response. Not even a twitch.

"No," he breathed. "No no no no no no no."

He carefully pulled him into his arms, cradling him to his chest, only seeing the little boy he'd practically raised.

"Oh Gods no!"

And just like that, in the moments that followed, Captain Liam Jones' still beating heart broke in two. As he sat there, one calloused hand gently carding through his brother's hair and the other holding him close, he began to do something that he hadn't done for years.

He cried.

And he never lived happily ever after.


	2. Dreamshade

Awareness slowly crept its way into his waking body, strong and sharp like the feeling of cold water as it settled in one's stomach. He felt dead. Not quite in the general meaning of the word, but numb. Physically and mentally numb. The only thing he could feel was his heart, which seemed as though someone had taken his sword and ran it through. Pain. So much _pain,_ but he couldn't put his finger on _why_, couldn't understand what was causing it.

Groaning, Liam opened his tired eyes and looked about his quarters, a frown of confusion forming on his face. He didn't remember returning to his cabin, let alone falling asleep—in his clothes at that. Whatever he'd had to drink last night must have been terribly, undeniably strong, stronger than anything he'd had in a long time. But it wasn't that that was bothering him. No, it was the knowledge that he didn't usually drink. _At all_. In fact, it was actually quite rare for him to even come in _contact_ with alcohol, let alone enough to render him completely unconscious. The only time he'd ever been drunk was at his mother's funeral and he deeply regretted the action. He didn't like the person he turned into under the influence of liquor. It reminded him too much of his father.

He sat up and stretched, squinting at the bright daylight that shone through his window and into his eyes, practically blinding him. His neck twinged when he moved it from side to side to get rid of the stiffness and sent a bolt of pain up and down his spine. Ignoring it, he heaved himself out of bed and stood, swaying slightly with the rocking motion of the ship, and stumbled over to his dresser to get a better look at himself. To say that he looked terrible would be an understatement. Dark, baggy circles made themselves prominent under his eyes, making him look a lot older than a man in his early thirties. His hair was disheveled and slightly damp, as if he'd awoken in a cold sweat, and seemed as though it could never be tamed again.

Huffing a sigh of annoyance, he struggled to get his appearance under control, or at least decent enough for him to face his crew. But the task was harder than it sounded. On top of everything else, dry, crusty streaks crept out of the corner of his eyes and down his cheeks, breaking off somewhere around his chin. He felt confusion once again settle inside of him as he scratched at the line and rubbed the coarse material between his fingertips. It crumbled when he applied the slightest bit of pressure and he let it float to the floor, his eyebrows knitting together as it fell. When it reached the wooden planks, he moved his foot and crushed it beneath his boot, smashing it into nonexistence. Only when he couldn't see it anymore did he feel even the slightest bit of satisfaction. Yet despite this, he still felt a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach as he contemplated what the small, fragile spec had been. _  
_

Salt.

His frown deepening, Liam took a deep breath and wiped a hand across his face, obliterating the white streaks, but causing the pigment in his eyes to turn pink. He gritted his teeth and straightened his wrinkled clothes before grabbing his sword and heading out the door—

And the violent, bloody image of a dead, mutilated body assaulted his mind like canon fire, knocking the wind from his lungs and nearly causing him to collapse to his knees. He gasped and gripped the door frame as if it was the only thing tethering him to the world—to _reality—_and wrapped an arm around his stomach, struggling to keep his gut from heaving. The mental pictures didn't stop their attack as they continued to ravage his brain. Terrible, vile thoughts of the corpse, who wore the uniform of one of his sailors, flashed behind his eyes. He couldn't see their face, couldn't recognize it. It looked like it had been ripped apart by a wild animal or a shaving blade or some other sharp instrument.

But then the image shifted to another body behind the destroyed man, one that, for some reason, seemed all too familiar. Feeling his blood run cold, the only thing Liam could do was watch in horror as his view moved to encompass the other person. It went slowly, horribly slowly, as if some unseen force wanted him to absorb every little detail as it was presented.

He knew who it was before their face was even revealed.

He wanted to reject it. He wanted to reject it so badly. But his mind wouldn't let him. His cruel, vivid, _stupid_ mind had taken the reins and it wasn't giving them up any time soon. This time, he really _did_ fall to his knees as an iron fist closed around his heart and squeezed, shattering it into little, tiny pieces. He saw himself rush over to the fallen man, saw him grip his face and beg him to come back.

_You have to wake up!_

He saw himself shake him, felt the sense of urgency fly through his veins like a gust of wind on a stormy night. He saw the man remain unresponsive, not even _twitching_, and Liam felt his chest tighten until he could hardly breathe.

_Please!_

He could barely breathe.

_Killian please!_

He couldn't breathe.

_No. No no no no no no no._

Oh Gods, he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't fucking _breathe!_

And then someone was by his side, gripping him under the arms and hauling him to his feet. He grunted, but did not resist as he was dragged back over to his bed and roughly deposited on top of it, his body sinking into the soft feather-stuffed mattress. He gasped in a deep breath as his eyes flew open, much to his surprise. He hadn't even been aware that he'd shut them. Slowly, the room stopped spinning and then abruptly snapped into focus, the quick transition making his stomach roil. As he looked up, his gaze still slightly glassy and blurred, panicked, terrified blue eyes bore into his own.

"Liam?" The person leaning over him asked, his voice cracking with emotion. "Brother, are you alright?"

Finally, _finally_, his eyes began to see again and he blinked, confusion mingling with the tightness in his chest. As he lay there, staring up at someone who, just a few minutes ago, he never thought he'd see again, he felt the iron fist around his heart release its hold and allow him to gasp in a much needed breath. Killian regarded the action with practically palpable worry, his youthful face clouded with it as he kept his hand firmly on Liam's shoulder like it was the only thing keeping him from slipping away. The relatively young captain had so much he wanted to say. So much, but he couldn't choose _what_.

"That's Captain to you," he said sternly, his pride overwhelming the relief in his body. "How many times do I have to tell you, Killian, on this ship, we are _not _family. You're my lieutenant and I suggest that you start _acting _like it."

He pretended not to notice the instant hurt that his brother showed, pretended not to care. But in truth, he didn't give a damn about the formalities of being captain, barely even _thought_ about it. He was just happy that Killian was okay, that he was there, breathing, safe, and undoubtedly _alive_. But he had to keep up the pretense that nothing was wrong, had to make it seem as though everything was simply business.

So reigning in control of his emotions, he sat up and ushered his brother aside and stood, nearly falling over due to his shaky legs. He waved Killian away when he hovered by him to help, an angry glint in his eyes as he stumbled over to his dresser once again. He leaned against the mahogany frame with his head down and his brow furrowed, images from what must have been the terrible nightmare ransacking his mind. His brother stood behind him with his hands shoved firmly into his pockets, staring at the floor as if he could burn holes into it.

"Tell me, Lieutenant," Liam said after a while when his appearance was finally in order. "What did you think was _so_ important that you felt the need to disturb me?"

An uncomfortable silence settled around them, tense like a taught rope, and he had to fight the urge to turn around and apologize for the way he was acting. He couldn't. Not on this ship. Not on the _Jewel_.

"Well, _Captain_," Killian muttered and Liam didn't miss the emphasis he put on the title. "I sent a scouting party ahead to the island to search for the plant, the one the King wants."_  
_

"And?" Liam pressed, intrigue suddenly replacing all of the worry, guilt, and fear in his mind.

"And we found it."

Slowly, so very slowly, he turned around to face his brother with astonishment plastered on his face, the success of the mission causing a fluttering feeling in his stomach. Killian smiled sheepishly at him, his hands still in his pockets, and leaned against the wall of the cabin, seemingly happy that his brother didn't appear to be angry with him anymore. Liam returned the smile with a large one of his own before reaching over and grabbing his sword so he could properly walk on deck.

"I have to see it for myself."

Killian nodded and moved to follow him, but abruptly stopped as pain entered his ocean blue eyes. Confused, Liam turned back to him and watched somewhat worriedly as his arm curled tightly against his body and stayed there, stiff and not moving, as if even the slightest twitch made it hurt. Frowning, he took one step forward and then another, each one pumping dread through his veins. He paused about a foot from Killian, far away enough so that he still had personal space, but close enough so that he was ready to act on a moment's notice.

"What is it?" He asked, making sure to keep his voice carefully clipped, but found himself failing as he caught sight of his brother's pale face. His mind started flashing back to the dream and the horrors it had entailed. The blood, the terror, the sickening wet sound of the knife as it sliced through skin, muscle, tendon, and—

No. _No_. It had only been a nightmare, a gruesome, disgusting mental game played by his subconscious to scare him. Only a dream. Nothing more, nothing more, _nothing more_.

"The plant," Killian said with a gasp, startling Liam out of his thoughts. "It uh, I..." he took a deep breath. "It's got quite a few thorns."

"And what, you scratched yourself?" He laughed, but the sinking feeling in his gut quickly stopped him. If the plant was medicine, then shouldn't it have healed him the second he was cut?

"Yeah... I suppose I did," his brother responded through his teeth as he gingerly rolled up his sleeve, his breathing suddenly becoming ragged and off. "Perhaps... it just... takes a while to... to..."

He trailed off as he stared at his arm in disbelief, panic slowly starting to creep into his eyes. Liam felt his body break into a cold sweat as he gazed at the sight before him, at the _nightmare_ before him. Along the angry red line where one of the thorns had cut, black lines were beginning to make their way through the veins of his brother's arm, causing the skin around it to look deathly pale in comparison. They spread quickly, unbelievably quickly, and, with a distressed cry of pain, Killian pitched forward, his legs completely giving out on him. Liam grunted as he caught him, but then gently lowered them both to the floor, making sure not to jostle him too much. When his back was against the wall, he carefully shifted his brother so that he could get a better look at the wound and maybe, just maybe, find a way to fix it.

If only.

It was even worse than before, having gone up the entire length of his arm in the few short seconds that had passed. He could see the beginnings of it crawling across his chest and neck, but not his face, which was devoid of any color whatsoever. Wide, frightened blue eyes met his own, begging him to do something—_anything_—that would help.

If only.

"Hey," Liam murmured as gently as he could and reached his hand up to cup his face. "Hey, hey, look at me—it's not even that bad, alright? It's not even that bad."

His brother's eyelids began to droop.

"Killian?"

Almost closed.

"Killian!"

They snapped open, not quite alert, yet not foggy enough to not know what was happening.

"You're going to be fine, you hear me? You're going to be fine."

It was a blatant lie and he knew it, but he just couldn't bring himself to—

"Killian?"

His eyes were shut.

"Killian?"

No response.

"_Killian!_"

This time a violent shake, one that caused the limp body in his arms to snap back and forth like a rag doll, like a corpse...

Because that's all it was: a corpse. His brother was gone...

And there was no bringing him back.


	3. Drowning

He tried to pull him out, but the beam was too heavy. Terrified blue eyes met his own as he tugged at the mast, his muscles straining with effort, and he felt his lungs beg for air. He would have to surface soon. He would have to surface and leave his brother down there alone while he freely obtained the precious oxygen that they both needed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't just _leave_ him there to suffer and choke and panic and—

And then he was being pushed upward toward the twinkling stars that were beginning to peek out from behind the storm clouds. He looked down and saw Killian shoving him toward the surface, likely using the last of his strength to complete the meager action. Liam's eyes widened and he _screamed_, wasting the last of his air and forcing him to resurface. The last thing he saw before his head broke the water was his brother's face staring up at him serenely. The second he sucked in a breath, he dove back under the waves and swam toward the sinking nightmare, adrenaline overwhelming the exhaustion in his body. It was too dark to see much of anything, but with the aid of the occasional lightening strike, he quickly located the part of the ship where his brother was trapped.

He wasn't struggling anymore, but whether it was because he'd lost the energy or the will, Liam didn't know. He swam forward, reaching him a few seconds later, and began to frantically pull at the mast. Bracing his feet against the cabin wall, he pushed upward, using his legs instead of his arms. A swirl of bubbles left his mouth as his muscles strained with effort. He grunted as the wood groaned and finally—_finally—_loosened just enough for him to reach over and pull Killian out from under it. If it wasn't for Liam's strong hold, he would have sank further into the chilly water the moment he was free. That wasn't good. It meant that either his lungs were almost devoid of oxygen or, more likely, they were filled with water. Liam didn't know the exact amount of time it took for a man to completely drown, but he wasn't going to waste another second and witness it first hand.

Gripping his brother tightly under the arms, he began to haul him toward the surface. He could just barely make out the dark outline of the lifeboat to his right and he swam toward it at an almost inhuman speed. He pushed Killian's head above the water as soon as it was within reach, wanting to get his brother air a soon as he could. He felt someone grab on to him and heave him into the boat. Not a moment later, Liam surfaced and placed his hand on the edge of it, pulling himself aboard with some help from the crew. He allowed himself to to take in a few heavy, desperate breaths for oxygen before turning all of his attention to Killian.

He wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing and Liam didn't know what to _do_. Of course, logically, he knew that they should start pounding his back or compressing his chest so they could get the water out, but that side of him wasn't in charge. No, logic had been thrown aside the _second_ he'd learned that Killian had been trapped in the ship. The one thing his mind could process without stuttering was that his brother was lying there cold, limp, and pale and the only person he could even _begin_ to blame was himself.

"Jacques!" He barked, finally managing to get a grip on himself and the man in question snapped alert.

"Yessir!" He responded, his face shrouded with worry as he gazed at the dying young lieutenant. He looked up into the Captain's eyes and was surprised to see the fiery determination in them. Usually, they were as calm as the sea on a flat day and never betrayed an ounce of what he didn't want the crew to know. But at the moment, oh at that one God damned particular moment, they were rough with emotion, clearly conveying to Jacques one thing and one thing only:

He wasn't about to lose his brother.

"Set course for the closest port. If you see anything, tell me. The rest of you pick up an oar and row!"

He immediately turned back to Killian when he was finished giving orders and began to pump his chest. He pinched his nose and blew air into his lungs, desperately trying to get the water out before it was too late. All the while, Jacques watched with a crestfallen expression. He knew it was futile: the struggle, the compressions, the air through his waterlogged chest. He'd been a sailor for a long time, had seen some terrible things. Drowning was nothing new to him and it most certainly wasn't new to the Captain, but he supposed that having it happen to your family—you're _only_ family—would only make it that much harder.

But that didn't seem to register in Liam's mind. With his jaw firmly set, he continued to push on his brother's chest, more forcefully this time. He knew that Jacques was watching him, didn't care. The only that mattered to him was Killian.

_Hang in there, little brother, _he thought as tears began to well in his eyes. _Just hang in there. Open your eyes, Kill, open your eyes!_

"Captain!"

He hadn't even been aware that Jacques had been repeatedly calling him for the better part of five minutes. Not stopping the compressions, he looked up wildly, eyes demanding why the sailor dared to interrupt him.

"There's a ship just ahead!" He shouted over the roar of the wind. "She sees us!"

Liam nodded and immediatley went back to trying to save his brother, his attempts getting more and more desperate with each passing moment. Jacques sighed and lowered his eyes. He knew that Killian was dead. He'd been dead the second he was trapped beneath the mast. He was gone and there was no bringing him back. The Captain was just in denial—neck deep in it. Jacques shook his head. The man couldn't live without his brother, didn't know how to. Although Jacques had no siblings of his own, he knew the lengths Liam would go to in order to save him.

"Haul them aboard!"

The shout reached Jacques ears through the howling of the storm, cutting through the air like a knife. A rope was lowered and one by one, the crew hauled themselves to safety. Liam and his limp brother were the last ones to be pulled aboard and the _second_ they hit the deck, he went back to the chest compressions. He screamed for a medic and one stepped forward grimly.

He knew. Oh Gods, he knew.

As Liam worked tirelessly to try and revive Killian, the Captain of the ship came over to Jacques and asked, "How long has this been going on?" To which he responded:

"Too long."

A cry of anguish rang through the air and the two men started. Feeling his heart squeeze painfully, Jacques turned back to the scene before him and winced at what he saw. Liam was being restrained as the doctor and two other sailors gently pulled Killian away. Liam struggled with his captors as hard as he could to no avail. There were simply too many of them.

"Let me go!" He screamed as his brother disappeared below deck. "Leave him alone!"

As the hysterics set in, rational thought flew out the window and before everyone's shocked, sympathetic gazes, Liam broke. The poor man simply shattered like a dropped vase. His fingers curled into his hands, the nails breaking the water wrinkled, calloused skin and drawing blood. Streaks of red dripped on to the ship's surface and ran through the grooves of the wood. It dripped into the sea, which swallowed it hungrily and continued to thrash and push, making the men nervous.

But not Liam. He didn't care.

"Killian!" He bellowed and pulled once more at his captors' holds. "You're not leaving me! You're not taking him away from me!"

But they were. They _were_. Jacques turned his face away...

...because it was all too much.

* * *

**I'm evil. Am I evil? I think I'm evil. **

**So sorry that I haven't updated, things have just been crazy with school and all that stuff. **

**Please leave a review! They help and encourage me to write (and they really mean a lot). Thanks!**

**-Nopride**


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